Bang bang: My daddy shot me down
by AnOldAndNowDelinkedAccount
Summary: While Kyouya secretly loves Tamaki, is any chance of them being together genuine or another host routine?  A TamaKyou songfic using Bang Bang.
1. Verse the First

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Ouran High School Host Club or any of its characters. That would be Bisco Hatori. Same goes for the song "Bang Bang," it belongs to its creator; the version in mind here is Nancy Sinatra's, as heard at the beginning of Kill Bill.

**Warning:** BL, boy's love, yaoi, M/M, whatever you wanna call it. Tamaki/Kyouya love. Don't care for it, don't read it. Oh, and for those who hate sad endings, listen to the song and/or read the title. I mean, just how do you think this is going to end?

**Author's Notes: **I wrote this, oh, a few months ago. It's my first/lengthiest piece of fanfiction, as well as my first song-based piece, but I love it lots. I tidied it up several times, then readied it for publication in a school anthology by inserting some story-explaining sentences and removing some Japanese terminology. Due to some cuts (and it being 20 pages long when the entire anthology was shooting for about that many), it didn't get in, but that's 'kay! So, posting it here to get reviews instead. I replaced most of the Japanese, but I'm hardly knowledgeable about such things, so it might be misused. Corrections are welcome...

This fic is set canonically, and this chapter is just before Kyouya and Tamaki's last day of middle school. There are four parts in all, and I'll upload them after I re-edit them for the, um…sixth time? Anyway, pay attention to suffixes and names! And there's an index of the Japanese (and French) at the end. Finally, make sure you've at least seen episodes one and twenty-four of the anime. Enjoy!

X

* * *

**Verse the First**

* * *

_I was five and he was six_

_We rode on horses made of sticks…_

Mere months had passed since that fateful meeting, but it felt as if they had known each other forever.

Sometimes, lying awake nights, instead of forcing himself to work, Kyouya would gaze dispassionately up at the ceiling and fabricate stories.

His sister was the only one to sense anything amiss; yet, after seeing the two of them together, her air of concern evaporated. Now her manner was tender, and tinged with what Kyouya suspected was a hint of amusement. It irked him to no end.

All the same, she was the only one permitted to remain in these bedtime fantasies he kept meaning to give up. The only one, that was, aside from _him_.

X

* * *

_He wore black and I wore white…_

A dream-world is a foolish, fragile, and above all impossible thing, Kyouya knew. These stained glass windows of false memory, which he had so carefully cut and set, were exactly that: false. But something about framing the two of them as childhood friends - he an only, cherished son; Tamaki happily running to his mother's arms at the end of their play - was more captivating than any future the innumerable numbers in his trademark black notebook might determine.

There was _one _future he was interested in, though. The future he inevitably extrapolated every night. The future where, one day, they would stand side by side, one in a suit of black and the other a suit of white….

His cell's alarm sounded, jolting him awake. Eternally a late sleeper, he found getting up for school on time a chore, and getting up early - to speak privately with Tamaki - was exponentially more difficult with each hour added. So it was that the unfortunately late hour displayed on the vibrating, buzzing cell phone elicited an oath, a curse against his anti-alarm abilities, and a tumble out of bed into his neat white uniform and black pants.

X

* * *

_He would always win the fight…_

"Kyouya!"

The addressed smirked, glasses glinting in the light filtering through the pillars of the shaded area of the Ouran High courtyard as he inclined his head. Any thoughts on how today's field trip would be his last chance to see Tamaki in his pristine white middle school uniform were completely undetectable.

"Hai, Suou-kun?" he replied in greeting.

"Noooo!" cried Tamaki tearfully. "You MUST call me by my first name! Or do you want me calling you Ootori-san?" he quipped, still overdramatizing and secretly thinking himself ever so sly, Kyouya was certain.

"That would be quite acceptable."

"WHAAAT?" exclaimed the blond. "Oh, don't jest so, Kyouya-kuuun! If we're going to make this club together, we must be the thickest of friends! True confidantes who know each other's thoughts from a glance!"

Kyouya studied the rambling beauty as he elaborated on the intimacy required to properly manage a club together, energetic hand gestures sprinkled heavily throughout, of course. The cool one's face grew heated, though he quickly concealed any visible traces with a well-timed adjustment of his glasses. By the time he had composed himself, however, Suou was silent, waiting for a response and studying the studier. Kyouya straightened abruptly.

"How many times have we been through this argument, Tamaki-san?" he asked, feigning exasperation. "I shall address you as is proper."

The ridiculous fool blinked twice, bewildered, before breaking out into his characteristic huge grin and attacking his companion. Despite being braced for this typical show of Tamaki-style affection, Kyouya was still knocked off his feet when the delighted foreigner pushed back for room to celebrate.

"KYOU-ya! Mon A-mi!" he shouted, jumping for joy and nigh knocking his heels together.

"Yes, well." Kyouya rose, brushed himself off and adjusted his apparel. "Now, what shocking new revelation do you have for me today, hm?"

Solidly on the ground once more, Tamaki grinned.

X

* * *

_Bang bang_

_He shot me down…_

"You…don't want me to be a host?"

"No, no!!" the blond protested. "I just didn't think you'd like having to interact with all those girls and be so false and calculating! I mean, you already have to practically all the time—why add to that? I thought you were tired of hiding the true you! Even if the true you _is_ a bad guy face…"

Kyouya said not a word. He couldn't find one, not in the whirling gyre within him at that moment. Tamaki, concerned for his reputation? For his mental state? For his happiness? Or for his precious Host Club? That he couldn't keep up the façade? He should have known better than that. Kyouya was the master of masks. He always knew exactly which was needed to get what he wanted, so he always _got_ what he wanted. And no one, not even Tamaki, could stand in his way, not when he wanted something this badly.

"But," he demurred, briefly assuming his usual flattering disguise and cutting into Tamaki's ponderings, "I doubt many girls would designate me, anyway, what with your irresistible charm about. So you wouldn't have to worry about that. And besides," he continued, resuming the brusque manner he frequently used in manipulating his friend, "left to you the club would be run into the ground. You haven't the slightest idea what it takes to manage something like that."

"I don't want you _out_ of the Club!" Tamaki insisted. The capital letter was immediately apparent to anyone listening - in this case, just Kyouya. "How absolutely totally cruelly unfair would that be! I could never abandon you to a life of boredom, slowly driving you mad with its lack of meaning! After all, didn't you and I come up with the Club together?"

"Actually, it was all your crazed idea…"

It took several minutes to appease the wounded blond, and several more to convince him that Kyouya was by no means being pressured into this club. Despite his philosophy that time was money, and money was power, and each bit of power brought him one step closer to finally rising above the brothers who had overshadowed him his entire life, Kyouya would willingly have spent hours.

"…to conclude, Tamaki, I wholeheartedly wish to be in this club and have chosen to do so of my own free will." He did not add, _As if you could ever force me to do something I didn't want to already. As if anything you ever wanted me to do was something I didn't want to do for you already._ "And I am more than fully willing to host whoever may see fit to designate me." He did not add, _Even if it means I must feign disinterest while I watch a thousand girls fawn over you. Even if it means I must forever wear this mask while secretly I nurse a thousand broken hearts._

Tears welled in the club poet's ever-so-sensitive eyes, and Kyouya knew he was about to be tackled again. But the night before, he had made a resolution he could not renege upon. Time was always of the essence; it was now or never; so he could not let Tamaki overwhelm him again just yet, not before he finally explained exactly why he had chosen so, before he confessed that-

X

* * *

_Bang bang_

_I hit the ground…_

Wincing, Kyouya propped himself up on his hands and wistfully watched the eternally evasive Tamaki jump gleefully about yet again. _It was not meant to be_, he told himself, reluctantly at first but then more sternly. _Foolish. Dangerous. Impossible. Never meant to be. No more than you were ever meant to inherit anything from your father…_.

But rather than brush himself off and stand, he remained still for a moment, caught in a paralysis of memory. The blond _idiot _dancing in front of him had admonished him for exactly such thoughts as he had just now entertained. Fate, birth, predestination, impossibility; all were but excuses for a lack of action caused by fear. Fear of rejection; fear of loss; fear of failure. Fear of breaking.

Ootori Kyouya, however, accepted no rejection; grieved for no loss; brooked no failure. He did not break. And he most certainly was never, ever afraid.

He stood, marched over in two long strides, grabbed a prattling Tamaki by the shoulders and shoved him up against the wall of the school. Staring into those stunned, quavering violet eyes, vaguely conscious of his hovering over a sweet mouth and just slightly parted lips, he willed himself to speak. Words bubbled up inside him, rose from a butterfly-besieged stomach up a breathless windpipe and into his aching mouth, filling it to bursting, desperate to spill out his heart's contents. He opened his mouth to let the torrent flood forth.

X

* * *

_Bang bang_

_That awful sound…_

"What's going on here?"

Kyouya slowly, hatefully turned his head to confront his interrupter, thoroughly prepared to lance him with a death glare and to hell with the consequences.

What he found set him reeling back against the wall himself.

"S-...Suou-sama."

Tamaki's father looked coldly down at him.

"And just what is the meaning of this?"

Composing himself as best he could, Kyouya stole a glance at his apparent "victim" and found him to be watching as well, a strange, indecipherable expression on his face.

"My apologies, Suou-sama." The words rolled off his tongue as easily as those other words had refused to, the deferential, apologetic, humble and self-deprecatory masks sliding into place. "I'm afraid your son can be a bit, ah, aggravating at times, and being an impatient person, I was attempting to get his attention."

"I see." The father turned to the son. "Is this so, student?"

Even the master of failing to notice subtlety, Tamaki, recognized the attempt to avoid favoritism and adhere strictly to duty.

"It is, Suou-sama."

"I see." The school superintendent looked them both over once again, then nodded. "Carry on, then." And with that, he strode off, never once glancing back.

X

* * *

_Bang bang…_

Kyouya was just breathing an inward sigh of relief when Tamaki turned on him, gaze piercing through the masks and knocking them away out of reach.

"Yes, Ootori-san," he said. "Carry on."

X

* * *

_My baby shot me down…_

If Kyouya reddened slightly while explaining the situation in strictly matter-of-fact tones, Tamaki turned pure crimson and had to clap a hand over his mouth. When the self-conscious raven finished, there was a deadly silence that stretched to infinity…until the blue jay suddenly burst into a merry song.

"K…Kyouya," he gasped, tears of mirth streaming down his flushed cheeks. "Your face..! I just-!" And with that he was so seized with laughter he collapsed to his knees, clutching his sides and sending his ringing tones throughout the empty campus.

Had it not been so early, and had students been around to peer curiously at the source of this disruption, to all appearances it would simply have seemed that the overly sensitive Tamaki had been told a rare - and probably not very funny - joke by the cool, composed Kyouya. Yet had Kyouya's sister been the spectator, she would have perceived how horribly reversed the situation was: for while Tamaki knelt paralyzed with laughter on the ground in the physical world, truly in all others Kyouya was the one bent to the earth.

Even lacking an Ootori's power of perception, it was possible to see, by looking closely, that both boys were shaking. Immediately after noticing, however, one might have doubted one's senses and sanity, for no sooner had Kyouya begun to tremble than he brutally stilled himself. Unaware, the blond finally laughed himself out and stood, genteelly dabbing his eyes dry with the back of his sleeve.

"Ah, gomen yo, hime," he apologized, flashing a brilliant smile - and barely avoiding another paralyzing fit of laughter. "Oh, Kyouya, I had no idea you were such a joker!"

The shaking began again.

"I really must thank you, though, for pointing out how intolerably unfit I am to handle being a host! By all that is compassionate, what if a customer should propose her love to me?"

It was different this time, though.

"Why, I could hardly laugh in her face as I just did yours."

There was no fear.

" Imagine how crushed she would be! Yes, I shall need to practice over the summer; compose a kind, gentle refusal of affection."

Not even embarrassment.

"Would you help me compose, Kyouya? Oh, and practice too! You were so very good at acting lovestruck - I almost believed you!"

Just pure, unadulterated…

"C'mon, Kyouya, one more time! Confess to me again!"

Rage.

This time Tamaki was actually borne up off of his feet, legs dangling like a rag doll's as the scorned princess choked him furiously against the stone wall.

"Ai…shi…te…ru," he hissed, obsidian eyes chiseling away at aubergine ones, willing them to see the truth.

They did.

In the space of a few seconds housing a kick powerful enough to shatter the sturdiest glass, the ill-fated raven was sent doubling over on the ground as the frightened blue jay took flight. And stretch its broken wings though it might toward the receding sun of its life, our poor little black bird now knew just how foolish, fragile, and impossible its dreams had been.

_It was never meant to be._

X

* * *

**Index:** "Hai" means "yes." "Mon ami" is French for "my friend." "Gomen yo, hime" is an informal "sorry, princess" (remember when Tama says this in ep one?). And "ai shiteru" is a really serious "I love you," not like the usual "daisuki" (which, like "je t'aime," translates literally to "I like you" but is usually used to tell someone you love them). 

**More Notes?: **Um, wow. All the lines look really short and strange stretched out like this. They looked like such big paragraphs in Word... Also, argh formatting. The X's (added on an edit) should make things better...maybe?

Please review! I'm constantly re-editing….really. You don't believe me but I am.


	2. Verse the Second

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Ouran High School Host Club or any of its characters. That would be Bisco Hatori. Same goes for the song "Bang Bang," it belongs to its creator; the version in mind here is Nancy Sinatra's, heard at the beginning of Kill Bill.

**Warning:** BL, boy's love, yaoi, M/M, lalala. Tamaki/Kyouya love (literally, here). Don't care for it, don't read it. Oh, and for those who hate sad endings, listen to the song…just what do you think this is going to be like? Also, lol clichés.

**Author's Notes:** This is the more mature part of the fic…and one of my least favorites, in the middle. Very experimental with style there and I don't know that it quite works. Anyway, again, please pay attention to suffixes – and this time, quotation marks in the lyrics, which would indicate Tamaki speaking (since Kyouya is singing). Enjoy!

X

* * *

**Verse the Second**

* * *

_Seasons came and changed the time…_

Summer dragged on for decades. Although its heat was more oppressive than usual, which surely meant the sun was shining fiercely, the world seemed not so bright as before. At last, however, time drifted and fell toward fall…and the start of school.

Wings splinted and heart bandaged but neither fully recovered, Kyouya arrived at school uncharacteristically late even for him after falling asleep fifteen minutes before his far-too-quiet alarm sounded. The teacher had just opened her mouth as he opened the door; he bowed his head apologetically and scanned the room, searching hastily for an empty desk.

"KYOU-YA!!"

A new, blank black notebook hit the ground with a sharp rap, accompanied by the thud of textbooks and clack of pens. The class watched, bemused, as the never-clumsy, always self-possessed and eternally masked Ootori stared openly dumbfounded at the friendly Suou. When the enthusiastic Frenchman leapt up to help the stunned bespectacled one, lightheartedly chiding him for his absence of mind, the awestruck silence exploded into a flurry of gossip and giggles.

As the teacher attempted to calm the swirling storm of speculation, the bluebird - now blue in truth, with his sharp new uniform - led the bewildered black one to the back of the room and the only two empty desks, prattling on as he seated them both. Feathers ruffled, Kyouya finally interrupted:

"Suou-san?"

"Ahhh," Tamaki sighed dramatically, placing the back of his wrist on his forehead in a gesture of longsuffering. "Have you forgotten already, Kyouya-kun? It is worse than I feared."

"Forgotten what?" a very wary Kyouya inquired.

Speaking right over him, the other teen continued. "When it said none of my messages had been received, I was _ever_ so worried, okaa-san, you haven't the _faintest_ idea…"

"What?" Too fast. "What messages?" Way too fast. "What did you call me?"

Tamaki practically sparkled, his radiant smile suddenly puncturing Kyouya's black sky and setting it alight as he gushed "What messages?! I only called you every day, my silly Kyouya! We _have_ to plan the birth of our beloved club, after all!"

"You…called me?"

"Yes, yes!" the shining blond affirmed a tad impatiently. "I suppose you really _didn't_ get any of my messages, so I'll just have to tell you in person. I was thinking we could—"

"Why?"

The star of everyone's conversations and one particular someone's life blinked quizzically.

"Why? Why shouldn't I ha—oh…" Knowledge dawned on his smooth features, but far from casting a shadow over his face, it remained impeccably sunny as he giggled nervously. "I _am_ sorry about that. I trust you suffered no, ah, lasting damage?" At Kyouya's terse nod, he breathed a mildly exaggerated sigh of relief before sobering.

"You know, though," he continued solemnly, "I did realize something."

Kyouya's pulse quickened. Ever so cautiously, he asked.

"What?"

"Clubs can't deny _anyone_!" the bright-eyed blond revealed, growing animated again. "We would never think of crushing someone's dreams, of course, but that means we have to cater to male customers as well! Not that that's a bad thing, not at all, just something to keep in mind. For, after all," he winked, cupping his chin between thumb and forefinger, "a host must be versatile, no?"

"…but of course," a strangely crushed Kyouya murmured in reply. What had he been expecting? An admission of love? Hardly. The bit about dreams, though, that was classic. Classic Tamaki. The _idiot_. What the hell did he know of dreams, much less their fragility? They were practically made to be broken.

But just as suddenly as depression and bitterness had set in, he felt the countering force of determination rise within him. Whether or not he believed in fate had nothing to do with it: he had been given this one last chance for a reason. Only a complete and utter fool—only a Tamaki—would squander it. And whether or not he believed in impossibility was irrelevant: he would _make_ it possible. Impotence was only part of his vocabulary because of the need to describe others. So it was that, against the backdrop of finally fading conversations and the bluebird's bright chirp explaining all his wacky, foolish and impossible schemes, an Ootori vow was formed.

He would win the heart of Suou Tamaki or die trying.

"Thank you, Tamaki," he finally cut the overexcited, glowing boy off without expressing anywhere near just how very thankful he was, "but I believe class is finally about to start."

"Oh! Of course!" Despite all his shortcomings, which while incredibly numerous were for the most part easy for Kyouya to ignore, Tamaki _was_ a good student. As the teacher began to talk, however, he leaned confidentially over.

"One more thing though, Kyouya. Now that we're creating this club together, I don't want you to call me 'Tamaki' anymore."

"Oh?" Kyouya asked absently, flipping open his notebook and neatly writing the title of the lesson.

"Mm-mn!" The blond shook his head enthusiastically. "From now on, you have to call me otou-sama."

"OTOU-SAMA?!" squealed a nearby classmate as Kyouya's right eyebrow shot up.

The rest of the period was a complete loss.

X

* * *

_When I grew up, I called him mine…_

It was their second year, and the Host Club was a smashing success. Kyouya really was amazed by how prosperous such a venture could be, provided Tamaki wasn't allowed to waste all their earnings on ridiculous things like unnecessary, expensive treats and "mood setters." Really, that man was so caught up in pleasing everyone else, he was like to drive himself into bankruptcy without even noticing, and then what would he do?

Haruhi, their new "daughter" according to the ever imaginative lord host, was most helpful in that regard. Her commoner coffee - remembering the incident still required Kyouya suppress a smirk - had become surprisingly popular, replacing the much more costly brand they had hitherto supplied. She was excellent at accidentally convincing Tamaki of the virtues of living simply and also inspired various (failing) efforts to show sympathy or to make Haruhi "more at ease."

Nonetheless, however the twins might tease about Tamaki being wrapped around Haruhi's oblivious little finger, there was only one person the charismatic blond belonged to.

That, of course, was Kyouya.

X

* * *

_He would always laugh and say…_

Even in possessing or being possessed by someone else, though, it is impossible to command or be commanded in every little action. Sometimes the specific action or habit in question does not bear addressing; it isn't worth the risk of disharmony or unpleasantries. Other times it is simply natural, uncontrollable, something that could not be repressed even if the person acting wished to stop.

In the case of Kyouya and Tamaki, whether or not the action was a conscious one was debatable. It was, however, most certainly not worth mentioning, Kyouya had decided. No matter how much this particular deed distressed him, he never once seriously considered bringing it up. Resolution or self-sacrifice; whatever the label or mask, he simply did not mention it.

It wasn't even a terrible habit, really, he had persuaded himself. Certainly Tamaki never meant it to be so. It was just that, in spite of being the one who insisted on the nickname, Tamaki _had_ to giggle every time Kyouya called him "otou-sama." This could be very, ah, inconvenient at times, namely when others were around to hear and wonder - or, in the twins' case, torment.

But there were other times Kyouya found it worse, enough to wish he really did have absolute control over his lord. When he was quite literally under pressure to call him father, being tickled and teased and prodded and puppeted under Tamaki's knowing hands, to hear that giggle in response to his heartfelt cry was…demeaning. It made him feel like a designator, someone Tamaki catered to and controlled the emotions of but never really cared for. Particularly because it always meant that, immediately or sometime later, Tamaki would feel compelled to apologize yet again for the way he reacted back then. Sometimes these apologies were accompanied by a teasing exploration to make sure he hadn't done any permanent damage; sometimes they were followed by a sigh. But they were always preluded by that nervous, embarrassed giggle.

X

* * *

_"Remember when we used to play,_

_Bang bang?"_

It was late, and the rest of the club had already gone home. Kyouya always stayed behind, working on balancing finances or checking stocks or even doing what little homework they were assigned. His home's atmosphere wasn't exactly motivating. Not that he'd call it a "home," really. Recently, Tamaki had often hurried to his "home" after excusing himself, rarely with grace and frequently discomposed enough for even Haruhi to realize something was amiss.

Tonight, however, Tamaki had chosen to stay, presumably brainstorming host ideas for winter. Kyouya knew better, of course; kotatsu were inevitable, and anything further was out of the question, as he had explicitly told the king. Why he had stayed, then, the darker king did not know.

Until, that was, Tamaki opened his mouth.

"Remember the last day of middle school?"

Ah. Feeling guilty again. Tick tap tap, he continued typing, clearly displaying his disinterest in another apology.

"I remember, otou-sama."

And there it was, the nervous giggle. Predictable.

"I really am sorry about that, you know. The…running, and everything."

Tap tap tap. Not interested.

"I know."

"…you forgive me, right?"

Tap tap. As if there was any question.

"Haven't I already?" was the verbal remark.

Tamaki ducked his head in front of the screen, obscuring it, and frowned as Kyouya continued tapping regardless.

"Well, sure, but I…I mean, what I did was…"

Tap.

X

* * *

_"I shot you down,_

_Bang bang…"_

Sighing, Kyouya removed his hands from the keyboard and pushed his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose.

"I know, Tamaki. Believe me. I remember more vividly than you can imagine."

"But you forgive me, right??" The increasingly, ridiculously frantic blond was now actually standing between him and his laptop, completely preventing any work from being done. Not that Kyouya had truly been able to work over the sound of his heart pounding since Tamaki had announced he would linger later that evening. "It's okay?"

"Yes, Tamaki. It's okay. I forgive you."

"Even though I--"

"YES, dammit, Suou! How many times do I have to say it? I. Forgive. _You_."

A broad grin spread over what was but a moment ago a cloudy, over-concerned face as Tamaki hugged his pardoner with overflowing gratitude. He really did have a knack for creating awkward situations - which he, of course, never found awkward at all.

"Tamaki."

"Yes?" the addressed blinked innocently up.

"You're in my lap."

"Ah, so I am," he murmured. It seemed he also had a knack for convincing _you_ that they weren't awkward, either.

"Would you mind moving?"

"Not at all," the blond replied smoothly, the hint of a twinkle in his eye.

"Thank-"

X

* * *

_"You hit the ground…"_

Within moments Kyouya had been spilled out of his chair and pinned effortlessly to the ground by a once again graceful Tamaki, who now occupied not his lap but the entire length of his body.

Each boy blinked, one innocently, the other in surprise. Then each grinned and pulled the other toward him.

After a long, breath-taking, meeting in which Kyouya had all the air forcibly sucked from his lungs, they paused, already breathing heavily.

"Familiar, isn't it?" asked a flushed Tamaki, hair ruffled and all the more beautiful for it. "You, on the ground…"

"Oh, shut up," Kyouya growled fondly, and interrupted Tamaki's coy smile with an attack of his own.

X

* * *

_"Bang bang…"_

They took their time. No one was around to see. There were no patrols on the grounds, no one left on campus after this hour. They knew. They had checked.

They tried everything they cared to and more. Just because one was a disfavored heir and the other a third son didn't mean they at all lacked for wealth to waste. And while Kyouya generally preferred to invest his funds, well…even he had to admit to a need for more, ah, personal investment.

Although they started out the evening with toys – choosing from feathers, neko and maid outfits, piano benches, cages; whatever they wanted was at their disposal - at some point they had grown irritated with everything getting in the way. Tamaki had stayed away too long for them to need extra stimuli. Now, had they been lucid enough to note, they would have found themselves in plain view of the door, lacking all articles of clothing - even garters - and making noise enough to wake the dead.

But, of course, they weren't.

Kyouya moaned heatedly under Tamaki's hands and body and _everything_, trapped beneath and sharing his sweat. So long, it had been so long since he'd decided to linger and it felt so _good_, he couldn't even notice the little details about the room he usually did, how that tile there was chipped or how the bottom of the walls' coloration did funny things in this light, all he could think was _Tamaki, Tamaki, Tamaki,_ and all he could say was "Tamaki, Tamaki, _Tamaki_," chanting for dear breath, until he could feel it, feel death in his twitching fingertips pressed hard against the floor, feel life thrumming through his body as they pulsated as one and together they _soared_ and **all** he could say as he jerked back and up a puppet on a string was

"OTOUUU-SAMAAAAAAAAA!!!"

X

* * *

_That awful sound…_

Giggle.

He could hear it.

A shy giggle. Nervous. Self-conscious. Embarrassed, even.

Amidst all the panting and sweating and spinning, the living and dreaming and dying, lying pressed there against the floor, Kyouya - was that his name..? - could hear a giggle.

It came from far away. Somewhere above him. Another world, perhaps. Summoned from his - Kyouya's - deepest, most hated hell. Deeper even than the family that stifled him, guaranteed he could be nothing. That giggle made him worse than nothing.

He clenched a wet, shaking fist, focusing his anger into it so he could bottle it and lock it away again.

But no. Not quick enough. Never quick or good enough. Some was escaping.

_Damn._

Just after - hell, _during_ - the most intimate act two people could commit…

Tamaki giggled, and hot tears leaked down Kyouya's cheeks.

X

* * *

_Bang bang…_

"Well!" said Tamaki, pulling on his shirt.

"Well."

"Hm? What's wrong, Kyouya?"

Tamaki, while usually dense, was always most intuitive just when you didn't want him to be. Like most people, only to the umpteenth degree. That was Tamaki, though; everything to the utmost degree.

"Nothing, Tamaki. Nothing's wrong."

A slight pause; a slight period of relief, and then,

"Are you happy?"

_Yes, this is Tamaki_, Kyouya thought silently. _Always concerned for the well-being and happiness of others, above anything else…even truth._

"I'm happy," said the hypocrite.

"Good!"

They fell silent again, tidying themselves up and gathering their things.

"I suppose it's about time to go then, ne," remarked Tamaki, bright as ever, even this close to midnight. He moved to the door. "I'll see you tomorrow, okaa-san!"

"Tamaki."

"Hm?"

The quizzical, blissfully ignorant expression on his face was almost too much to bear disrupting, but Kyouya had to know. Even if he couldn't know everything, even though he didn't _want_ to know everything, he had to know this one thing.

"Are you…are you happy, Tamaki?"

X

* * *

_"I used to shoot you down…"_

Far from expected, the usual drama king paused and adopted a thoughtful expression.

"Happy…? Why wouldn't I be happy? Everything's going so great!"

"Happy isn't the same as great, or good or fine or even content, Tamaki," Kyouya rebuked with a slightly offended growl. "I don't want to know if you're doing well or feeling good. I don't want to know if "everything" is fine or great or spectacular. I want to know: are you, _you_, Suou Tamaki, _**happy**_?"

For once the talkative host appeared mute. This second instance of abnormal behavior in as few minutes was enough to elicit concern from the silent one, who was rarely as incautious with his masks as this, but his lover quickly recovered.

"Yes, Kyouya, I think…I think I _am_ happy."

"You think? Why don't you know?"

"Well…" He was looking thoughtful again, but more sparkly than before. Most likely, he had another of his madcap ideas. Surely that was all. "There's just one thing I can think of that would make me happier."

"Oh?" Externally the façade was cool as glass and composed once more, aside from some residual warmth, but Kyouya's heart quickened at his words, despite any rational warnings that it sounded just like a line he'd feed to his customers. "What's that?"

He didn't giggle, but he flushed and looked so embarrassed Kyouya was surprised he hadn't.

"Well…I wasn't prepared for _today_, but…"

All too painfully aware that if he asked any of the multiple questions he had, Tamaki would take three times as long to explain, Kyouya remained silent.

"You know I'm sorry - and I know you forgive me," he hastened to add as Kyouya started to look irritated, "but…I can't believe I ever turned you down, okaa-san." He bridged the gap between them and was lightly gripping his shoulders before Kyouya could even blink. "So, I wanted to ask…"

_Not a word,_ Kyouya admonished himself. _You cannot speak a word. Don't you dare lead him on._

His thought chant and pulse intensified as Tamaki slowly, carefully took his left hand and knelt on one knee before him.

"Ootori Kyouya…"

_Not a word not a word not a word not a word not a word not a word not a word not a word not a word not a word not a word not a wor-_

"…will you marry me?"

Not a word could Kyouya speak. Not a word, except:

"A-..ahh."

X

* * *

**Index: **"Okaa-san" means "mother," and it's fairly respectful. "Otou-sama" means more like "highly respected father." Kotatsu are explained in episode 24… Oh, and when Tamaki says "ne," it's like saying "huh," making it a question (if mostly rhetorical). 

**More Notes?: **Yes, that's a yes! Mori's type of yes, to be exact. And things will get just a bit happier…but lasting's another matter. Please review, the last two parts will be up shortly!


	3. Interlude

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Ouran High School Host Club or any of its characters. That would be Bisco Hatori. Same goes for the song "Bang Bang," it belongs to its creator; the version in mind here is Nancy Sinatra's, heard at the beginning of Kill Bill.

**Warning:** BL, boy's love, yaoi, M/M, lalala. Tamaki/Kyouya love. Don't care for it, don't read it. Oh, and for those who hate sad endings, listen to the song…just what do you think this is going to be like?

**Author's Notes:** Just as the title of this portion might suggest, this is a nice little happy period in this tale of heartbreak. It's shorter than the verses, but the paragraphs are longer…much more descriptive. While unintentional at first, it's a neat stylistic difference, ne? No index needed here, only remember that Ranka-san is Haruhi's father and Fuyumi is Kyouya's sister.

X

* * *

**Interlude**

* * *

_Music played, and people sang…_

They waited a little over a year, until school was a completely closed chapter in their lives. Parting with the members of the Host Club had been the hardest part, but they had had practice with Mori and Hunny, and at any rate they weren't locking them out of their lives forever. What good would that have done when everyone had instantly deciphered what had happened the very next day? His own fault for leaving a tie behind, and for foolishly thinking no one would notice the addition of one small piece of jewelry, Kyouya thought ruefully as he walked up the aisle, Haruhi at his arm to give away her "mother." But, all had worked for the best. It would be good to have a few close friends to share their secret with.

Not that this wedding was very secretive. In return for accepting Kyouya's limits on invitations, namely that only the Host Club, his sister and Ranka-san were invited, Tamaki had insisted on control of everything else. Once granted - how could he deny that face? - the ecstatic blond had used his power to the fullest.

The church itself was so grand it swallowed the tiny number of attendees, and had Kyouya conceded to wear a dress and heels he would be very much in pain by the time he reached the altar. Instead his outfit was incredibly flamboyant, ivory white cloth covered with pearls and sequins and dazzlingly bright. He half longed for Tamaki's deep, ebony suit, which the princely Suou had tried in vain to make more theatrically appealing; but no, even if he _had_ been dolled up in a dress, Kyouya would not have traded this one chance to see Tamaki in dark colors. It suited him astoundingly well, showing off his not-too-pale but instead just-perfect skin and bringing out some hidden, surprising darkness to those purple eyes.

Puzzling over just what about Tamaki in black made his heart catch in his throat was made more difficult, however, by the presence of a full-blown orchestra and choir. What was worse, Renge had magically made her way into the latter and was intently watching him - so intently he doubted she was even singing at all. Kyouya had not wanted to have to wear his masks, not here, at his own wedding, but upon thinking about it, he realized he really didn't have to. No matter how prim or proper he might present himself as, the overwhelming fact was that he was a boy marrying another boy - they were hardly men - and nothing could change that.

Looking into Tamaki's deep, dark eyes as they recited their vows, he didn't want anything _to_ change that. Ever.

X

* * *

_Just for me, the church bells rang…_

"He really is something else, isn't he?" Kyouya smiled in response to the twins' jibes about having wedding bells - wedding bells! Just for him, his groom (oh, his groom) had insisted. Archaic, foreign, and romantic all at once; but that was Tamaki, an old-fashioned French lady-killer. _Wouldn't have him any other way._

Unlike many wedding receptions he had attended, Kyouya felt no need to excuse himself and bustle off to get something accomplished, or to hunt down important company families and befriend them, or to calculate how much the wedding must have cost. He knew the last already, of course - and tried not to remember; important families, there were none beside his friends. But as for leaving to get something done, well, Kyouya was perfectly happy just watching Tamaki interact with the others.

The twins had of course complimented Tamaki's outfit; "of course," he thought, because they had provided it. Hunny had admired (and devoured) the vast array of sweets Tamaki had conjured, another constant, and Mori had silently nodded his approval of the whole affair. Currently, Tamaki was engaging in conversation with Haruhi, easing her embarrassment over acting the part of Kyouya's father. Ranka-san and Fuyumi, the only Ootori present aside from the bride, were happily chit-chatting away.

It was amazing that, garbed in shocking, glittering white as he was, he could still play the part of Shadow King, yet he fell into the role with ease. Nor did it feel at all unnatural. Where most brides would feel hurt and unattended to, Kyouya was simply thoughtful. Grateful, even, for this last chance to observe everyone together without any obligations on his part. Oh, there would be reunions; other weddings, perhaps - and at that he eyed the twins thoughtfully - but nothing like this. This was special. It was like…

It was like a dream.

"Kyouya," breathed Tamaki in his ear, suddenly holding his elbow. "Dance with me, Kyouya."

"Anything for you, m'lord Tamaki," Kyouya replied, half-playfully, half in a trance, letting him take his hand and sweep him onto the dance floor where they twirled side by side, one black, one white.

_Anything for you._

X

* * *

**More Notes?: **Ah, the new spacing works much better, I think. I shall have to go back and repair the others. As always, please review; only one part left! 


	4. Verse the Last

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Ouran High School Host Club or any of its characters. That would be Bisco Hatori. Same goes for the song "Bang Bang," it belongs to its creator; the version in mind here is Nancy Sinatra's, heard at the beginning of Kill Bill.

**Warning:** BL, boy's love, yaoi, M/M, lalala. Tamaki/Kyouya love. Don't care for it, don't read it. And here's the tragic ending…and probably some OOCness. Also angst. (But that's Kyouya.)

**Author's Notes:** This is actually my favorite part, mostly because I write best in small amounts, like drabbles, and this verse is like a series of drabbles. I love connecting each little section. Because of that, I removed some of the spaceholding X's so the flow isn't disrupted. The ending…some bits still bother me, but I'm pretty happy with it. Er, sad.

So now…the conclusion.

X

* * *

**Verse the Last**

* * *

_Now he's gone, I don't know why…_

One day, Tamaki disappeared.

Not just from Kyouya's life. Not just from the "apartment" - more of a small mansion - they shared. Not just from the college he was attending in hopes of becoming a beauty consultant or a school counselor or a wedding planner or all three combined or maybe something even better.

He _disappeared_.

No one knew where he'd gone. Kyouya tapped his every resource. He searched the web, the media, the world, Japan and France and all the popular getaways. His private police force of a hundred men couldn't find a trace. Not even the Suou family knew where Tamaki had gone, let alone the Haninozuka, Morinozuka, and Hitachiin families. When he called Ranka-san, however, all became clear. Too clear. No matter how he tried to disguise it, to tuck it away in the recesses of his brain and forget it, to exclude it from his view as he looked out through his cracking stained glass window, he couldn't escape.

Haruhi was gone too.

X

* * *

_And 'til this day, sometimes I cry…_

Months passed. Seasons came and went.

No Tamaki.

Oh, how very foolish he'd been.

Friends and family visited and left again, offering condolences on his "loss" - as if that was all it was - and exhorting him to resume normal life.

Normal life. Without Tamaki.

Of course such a fragile existence hadn't lasted. Of course. Idiot.

The other ex-hosts understood best. They made no placations, no reassurances, not even offers of sweets. The twins at first tried to tease him out of it, provoke him into reacting, but they stopped after he _reacted_ by breaking down in an uncharacteristic fit of tears. Their dual warmth was comforting; it lulled him to sleep amidst dreams of Tamaki's affection.

His impossible affection.

Hunny later told him he had talked in his sleep, at first, muttering about blue jays and sparrows flown out of reach. Mori had simply watched, seemingly impassive, yet in his lack of emotion was some strange comfort, detectable even from that other world. And under this sentinel's gaze, Kyouya was, somehow, able to sleep secure.

X

* * *

_He didn't even say goodbye…_

Once the initial mad hunt for Tamaki was over, Kyouya took his time searching their house itself. Various things had been left behind - namely school work, though not one beauty product had been neglected. Anything they had shared remained. Yet even though he read every single assignment left behind, perused everything again and again, Kyouya found no hidden message, no apology, no farewell.

Of course, Tamaki was never one for subtlety. That was the Shadow King's domain, even if he had discarded all those masks ages ago. And so, subtly, he let Ranka-san know that he would like to check Haruhi's room as well. The sympathetic okama readily obliged.

X

* * *

_He didn't take the time…to lie…_

Haruhi had not left a message, either. Unlike Tamaki, all her schoolwork was gone; becoming a lawyer was her life's goal, after all. Similarly mirroring yet complementing Tamaki - what was once Kyouya's job - not one dress had been taken out of her closet; her comb remained, and she had never possessed makeup to begin with.

But it wasn't what wasn't there that destroyed any shield of ambiguity Kyouya had retained. It wasn't even which of Haruhi's things had been left there. It was just the one thing that didn't belong there.

X

* * *

_Bang bang…_

Kyouya knelt, shakily, and picked it up. It was exactly as he remembered. A simple golden band, an exact twin of the one on his finger. The only non-decadent article he had ever convinced Tamaki to keep and wear, its simplicity was supposed to echo the simple trust of their relationship.

Tamaki's wedding ring.

* * *

_He shot me down…_

It burned his fingers with pain and memory. With an oath he hurled it against the wall, but in such a small room it rebounded and struck him forcefully in the chest, just above the heart, before rolling off towards a corner. He staggered back -

* * *

_Bang bang…_

- then with a bitter cry wrenched his own ring off so forcefully he scarred his finger to match his wreck of a soul and cast it down on the ground. It bounced a moment, landed on its side and rolled in a slow circle before falling still. Falling dead.

* * *

_I hit the ground…_

Falling to his knees with the thud of a corpse, Kyouya was only vaguely aware of Ranka-san behind him, urgently asking what was wrong. Wrong? Nothing was wrong, he thought vaguely, looking at the two almost but not quite touching rings. Everything was fine now. He had finally broken free of the delusional, foolish, fragile, impossible, _idiotic _world he had trapped himself in, finally disconnected himself from his one weakness. That despicable weakness; the memory of it was already fading away. What was it again..?

* * *

_Bang bang…_

"…Tamaki - "

Ranka-san's voice on the phone jolted through him like a bullet, but when he touched his hand to his chest there was no entry wound. No pain. And why should he feel pain at a name he didn't even know? Silly, wasn't it? Madness….

* * *

_That awful sound…_

Giggle.

He could hear it.

A shy giggle. Nervous. Self-conscious. Embarrassed, even.

Amidst all the talking and thinking and spinning, the living and dreaming and dying, kneeling captive there on the floor, Kyouya - was that his name..? - could hear a giggle.

It came from far away. Somewhere within him. Another world, perhaps. Summoned from his - Kyouya's - deepest, most crazed hell. Deeper even than the family that stifled him, driving him mad. That giggle made him more than mad.

He spread quivering, shaking hands towards the heavens, uncorking his laughter and letting it run free, shattering the horribly distorted windows, breaking the bottle and the memories so he never had to worry about them again.

* * *

_Bang bang…_

But no. Not free enough. Never free or wild enough. Some memory remained.

_Damn._

Just after - hell, _during_ - the most horrible experience a person could go through…

* * *

_My daddy shot me down…_

Ootori Kyouya giggled, and hot tears leaked down his cheeks.

* * *

X 

**Index**: In case you didn't remember, an "okama" is a male crossdresser, like Haruhi's father.

**Finale:** So! It's horrible, but I love sad endings. I hope you all liked it okay. Thanks so much for the reviews, and let me know your parting thoughts!


End file.
